


Nothing but the Truth

by nickelmd



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Crack-ish?, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Truth Serum, hair ruffling, neck nuzzling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2014-01-29
Packaged: 2018-01-10 10:53:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1158821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nickelmd/pseuds/nickelmd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean doesn't remember doing anything unusual, but suddenly he can't open his mouth without embarrassing himself. Good thing Cas isn't home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing but the Truth

“I’m worried when you leave in the mornings without saying goodbye that you’re mad at me.” The words are out before he even knows what he said. He knows that’s not what he meant to say. He’d opened his mouth with the intention of teasing his health nut brother about his ridiculous jogging habit. He wasn’t even thinking about that other thing. Not much, anyway.

“Excuse me?” Sam replies, stopping at the top of the landing, clearly baffled by Dean’s sudden, inexplicable confession.

“I mean, what? That’s…” _not_ true Dean tries to force out, but instead all that comes out is “true.”

“Dean,” Sam starts walking down the stairs with his best understanding brother puppy dog face, “we talked about this already. I’m not happy with what you did, but I’m ready to move on. If I’m mad at you, I’ll let you know.” Sam stops, really looking at Dean. He must not like whatever he sees on Dean’s face, because he adds, “Are you ok?”

“What? Pfft,” Dean manages, and shrugs as casually as possible, not willing to open his obviously malfunctioning mouth. He’s not fine. Obviously, he’s not fine. He might have to tell Sam. He probably should, but all he can do at the moment is leave Sam hanging, turn, and walk back to his room as quickly as possible.

Back in his room, Dean lies on his bed with his eyes closed. He concentrates on breathing deeply and not panicking. He rewinds 24 hours in his mind and goes over every detail he can remember. He starts with yesterday’s breakfast and ends with this morning’s. He can’t think of anything unusual he’s done, touched or seen. The worst thing he’s done was eat Cas’ slightly gross leftover granola.

Cas. Shit. Thank God Cas isn’t currently in the bunker. Dealing with this around Sam is going to be tricky enough. Dealing with Cas would be an entirely different problem. Cas isn’t due back until tomorrow night at the earliest. Surely he’ll have this figured out by then.

The first thing Dean decides to do, before asking Sam for help, is to try to figure out the parameters he’s working with. Maybe there’s a way to game the system. Maybe, now that he’s alone, he’ll have more control over what he can and cannot say. He thinks up the simplest lie he can think of, “My name is…” _Garth_ he thinks, but what he gasps out is, “Dean Winchester.” He blows out a frustrated breath. Ok, it looks like an audience doesn’t matter.

Next he tries some kind of half-truth to see how much wiggle room he might have. He thinks about Sammy and how much he loves him, but also how much he loves to tease him. Those things aren’t lies, not really, they're just expressions of affection. “Sammy’s a…” _bitch, jerk, dumbass,_ all roll through his mind, but what comes out is, “a better man than I’ll ever be.”

Shit. It’s true. Of course, it’s true. That’s not the point. Just the fact that Sam is still here, working on repairing his relationship with Dean after all the crap Dean has pulled is proof of that, but it’s not the kind of thing he goes around telling him. Sam knows how Dean feels, that’s all that matters.

Whatever is happening to him obviously has strict rules. He doesn’t seem to be able to get away with speaking even the slightest falsehood. Not speaking, but maybe writing would work. He pulls out a paper and pen from his nightstand and proceeds to test his condition against the written word. He puts the pen down on the small yellow paper very carefully. “Cas is human” he feels himself write and almost jumps in triumph, until he looks at what he actually wrote, “Cas is the best.”

Fuck. Dean squeezes his eyes shut and tries not to cry.

Sam is just starting to wonder if he needs to check on Dean, when he hears him walking toward the kitchen. A moment later he’s standing in the doorway, looking unsure and passing a small slip of paper back and forth between his hands. He catches Dean’s eyes and waits for an explanation of why Dean is suddenly talking about emotions and then running away. When Dean continues to stand there, unmoving and silent, Sam gives him a look and raises his shoulders, asking without words, “What the hell?”

Dean sighs and walks to the table and sits down. One hand is still clutching at the paper and one hand is running through his hair nervously. Finally he sighs and slides the paper over to Sam.

> Sam,  
>  I’m having a situation. I’m working on it. Don’t talk to me for a couple of hours.  
>  Dean

“Are you kidding me, Dean? What the hell is this?” Sam asks, perplexed and sliding right toward angry. Why won’t Dean ever just trust him enough to ask for help. “What the hell kind of ‘situation’ do you have?”

“I…” Dean slams his hand over his mouth and shakes his head.

Sam takes a moment to calm himself. If Dean thinks he can handle it, he can. If this trust thing is going to work, it has to go both ways, “Fine. Whatever. Let me know if you need me.” The look of sheer relief on Dean’s face makes him feel better. Dean stands up and ruffles Sam’s hair as he walks by. Sam looks up and sees his own shock mirrored in Dean face. Dean’s holding his hand out in front of him and looking at it like it’s some new appendage he just grew. He’s out of the room before Sam can even comment.

Dean hits the books with a renewed determination. Being forced to tell the truth with words is one thing, but ruffling Sammy’s hair? What the hell was that. Sure. He thinks about that sometimes. About how he used to do it all the time, back before Sam got taller than him. And, yeah, whatever, he misses it sometimes. But, not ruffling Sam’s hair? That isn’t a lie. It’s just normal human restraint. He is starting to worry that his ‘situation’ might be escalating into even more uncomfortable territory. His relief at Cas’ absence is suddenly doubled. He cannot get this figured out fast enough.

Dean is startled awake by a door slamming. He peels his face off the pages of the book he fell asleep on and jumps up out of his chair. Cas is walking down the stairs. Oh man, Cas is so great and he’s missed him so much. He meets Cas halfway and pulls him into a giant hug, “Cas, man, I am glad you’re home.”

Cas is awkwardly stiff for a moment before getting with the program and returning the gesture. Dean continues to hold Cas, burying his face in Cas’ neck. It seems like this might be an extra long hug, but it feels awesome. Cas breaks the silence, “Dean…did something happen while I was gone? Are you ok?”

The question brings Dean back to reality like a glass of ice cold water to the face. He stiffens in Cas’ arms and Cas immediately lets go. Dean forces himself to let go as well. He slowly pulls his arms away, one at a time, pressing his palms against Cas’ chest and pushing himself to take a step backward. The itch is still there, to move back in, but he seems to be able to resist it now that he’s concentrating. In fact, nothing seems more important right now than holding his body an arm’s length from Cas. He focuses on it with a single-minded determination.

“Dean, not that I found it unpleasant, but what was that hug for?” Cas asks.

“Hmmm…well, you were gone a long time, I miss you when you’re gone, you know, because I love you, and I’m having a really weird day, so I was just relieved to see yo—“ Dean realizes, with horror, he was so busy concentrating on his body, he forgot to keep his damn mouth shut. Shit and fuck.

Cas stands stock still and regards Dean carefully. Dean hugged him when he got home. The last time Dean hugged him was when in purgatory. Dean is not a big hugger. Dean also told him he missed him and that he…he loves him. He tilts his head as if he might be able to understand this situation better from a different angle. Dean looks like he’s poised to run. One hand is over his mouth, the other out in front of him, as if to keep Cas at bay. 

“Dean,” Cas takes a step forward. 

Dean puts his hand out as if to stop him from getting closer, but confusingly fists his hand in Cas’ shirt. “Cas, please.”

Cas stops, uncertain what Dean is asking. “Dean...what do you need me to do?”

Dean’s makes a pained face and fists his hand harder in Cas’ shirt. His mouth is a tight line and he shakes his head slowly. Cas reaches up, two fingers extended and touches Dean’s forehead. Dean still has the pained look on his face, but he leans into the touch. At the touch of his fingers onto Dean’s forehead, Cas starts and pulls back, causing Dean fall forward into his arms. “Dean...did you...take anything of mine out of the kitchen? Maybe something in a paper bag?”

He feels Dean’s nose pushing into his neck. “Cas...I want...I need…” 

“Dean...THINK...did you find a paper bag in the kitchen?” Dean’s nuzzling is getting distracting. And insistent. 

“Hmm, yeah, that granola. Smelled pretty good, tasted a little weird though. Cas, I’m so sorry, I’m...I think I’m gonna...” A rough noise tumbles out of Dean’s mouth and suddenly his arms are around Cas’ waist and his nuzzling has taken on a different feel. Dean walks them backwards until Cas hits the wall. Dean has definitely moved from nuzzling to kissing, “Don’t go, Cas. Okay? Love you. So much.”

Cas is starting to feel a little light headed. How is that even possible? He’s an angel. Angels do not feel faint. When did his hands end up in Dean’s hair? Cas’ movements could accurately be described as caressing, he thinks. He may have limited direct experience, but he’s been observing humanity long enough to know where this type of caressing leads. He needs to stop...Dean. Dean is clearly under the influence of the spell ingredients Cas was collecting. But Dean is making it very *hard* to think straight. Cas closes his eyes and focuses as he places two fingers back on Dean’s forehead. 

Dean’s body slumps under the weight of his returning autonomy. The only thing holding him up is Cas. When he looks up, Cas looks wrecked. His hair is even more disarrayed than usual and his eyes are a little wild. Dean straightens and blows out a stuttering breath. “Wow. That was. Wow.” 

“Dean...you? Love me?” Cas asks, an odd note in his voice. 

Dean thinks about lying, now that that particular, very useful skill has returned, but somehow looking at Cas, he can’t do it. He rubs a hand over his face before he answers. “Yeah. I do. It’s not...it doesn’t have to. I mean. It’s fine Cas. It’s just. I do. Yeah.”

“Do you still want to...kiss me?” Cas looks uncertainly at Dean.

“I don’t have to answer that anymore, you know,” he replies. It has been such a weird, long day, and he can’t believe Cas is going to press the issue.

“Because, I think I’d like to try that again, if you still...want to?” Cas ends it like a question watching Dean carefully. Hopefully.

A small laugh escapes Dean’s lips and grows until he isn’t sure if he’s going to be able to stop. Before Cas can get offended, though, Dean leans into him, pressing him against the wall, his voice suddenly deeper, “Yeah. I think I do.”


End file.
